The Next Room
by LittleRedHatter
Summary: a songfic request from deviantART. post-reichenbach johnlock. not too sad. john goes to paris, hoping to try and deal with the loss of the love of his life. then a mysterious man stays at the hotel room next door


**The Next Room**

"You need to take a holiday John. Look at you, you're a mess. It's been a year and you're still a mess. Look, I'll even pay for everything. Don't look at me like that, I can be nice. I hear Paris is nice this time of year. Don't worry John, I'll pay for everything. Just go and have a nice relaxing holiday."

"Damn you Harry," I growled. Two days since I first arrived in Paris. Two days since I last saw any of my friends. Two days in the damned fancy hotel. Two days of being alone. Another two days of missing Sherlock. I leaned over my balcony. The district of Las Deferens lay before me. Modern Paris. It was amazing. The world around me, always changing, always improving, always moving on. I wished I could do that. To change, to improve, to move on. But I couldn't. I couldn't move on from Sherlock. He was the love of my life, and he was gone. A whole year of pain and sorrow and loneliness. I had just moved back into 221b Baker Street three months ago. It was hard. I was only able to say his name last month. Out loud. It took me half a year to think it. It gave me great pain. I kept his coat and scarf. I slept with it at night. I didn't tell my psychiatrist about that. I told no one about that, but I think Mrs Hudson knew. We were all still mourning, but I think I was the worst. I hadn't forgiven Mycroft for what he had done. No way in hell.

I heard laughter and looked down. A couple was laughing and kissing. I walked back into my room and shut the curtains. I couldn't look at a couple without wanting to burst into tears. It was horrible. I never did much with my life. Everything was so dull without Sherlock, so boring and quiet. I hated being alone. Not being distracted. I could think then. I didn't want to think. I never wanted to think. I jumped onto my bed. I grabbed the coat and scarf and held it close to me. I could still smell him. I saw him in my head. He was smiling. I knew it wasn't healthy, but I didn't care. It helped me get through the days. The horrible lonely days.

There was only one room left on the floor I was in. It was taken the next day. Never saw the bloke. I knew it was a guy, I asked the maid. I had learned basic French during my years of fancy school. My parents wanted me to be the best, even if the school was horrible. The maid told me the guy was quiet and kept to himself. Another like me, right next door. Another lonely wanderer. I wondered if his story was like mine, probably not even close. A week had gone by. I had gotten bored and used some of Sherlock's deduction skills on people. I would go to the breakfast, lunch and dinner buffets and watch people. It was interesting. I had learned I was terrible at deducing. I counted how many people were there. The man next door was none of them. I wondered if he ever left his room. I had to escape my room. It was suffocating. During the day I would wonder around Paris. I had been there many times as a kid. The last time I went I was twelve. So innocent back then. No idea of the pain I would feel. Wished I knew. But I wished I didn't. I would have never met Sherlock. I would never have felt the great love I felt for him, even beyond the grave. I missed him so much. Every night I held his coat and scarf. Every night I cried myself to sleep. At least I was sleeping again.

Two weeks it had been since I'd arrived. Two weeks of watching John. He never saw me. I hid myself well. A year and two weeks of watching John. I needed to stay out of sight, to be sure the snipers weren't watching. To make sure my love was alright. He wasn't. He was a wreck. Every day I wanted to go to him, to tell him everything was alright. To hold in my arms, to kiss him, to tell him I loved him with all my heart. I couldn't. There was one sniper still out there. I had taken down the rest, but there was one who always got away. His name was Colonel Sebastian Moran. Apparently he was close to Moriarty, and was determined to make sure I was dead. And if I wasn't, make sure all that was dear to me was dead. He was the best of the best. I hadn't heard of his activities for a month. But I knew he was watching John. He was always watching John.

I had taken the risk and gotten the room next to John's. I made sure he never saw me. Made sure no one ever saw me. I had packed more than enough disguises, changing into someone new everywhere I went. It had become my life. I hated it. It was so lonely. I wanted my doctor back. I needed him. My mind had slowed down. I could only function with John. He was my medicine as well as my poison. I watched him leave the hotel. Today could be the day. The day I would tell him I was alive. Sebastian had disappeared, for good I hoped. I watched John cross the street. He nearly got hit by a cab. He looked so depressed. I knew his heart was feeling worse, because my heart was feeling the same way. I stood there, watching him, going through my options. My mind had decided, that was until I saw a familiar face. A tall man with sandy hair.

"Sebastian," I said. He was in Paris, watching John like me. He had a bag swung over his shoulder. I could tell a rifle and a small knife lay inside. He had enough of searching. He was going to make me come to him, to see if I was alive. He was going to kill John. He knew I would avenge him. I would. No one would dare harm my John. I needed to distract Sebastian, to get him out of the way. I needed John to leave too. I had already come up with a plan when I arrived at the hotel.

I went to the park. It was nice. Almost got hit by a cab, but it was still nice. I met a nice lady. She was homeless, but nice. I gave her all the change I had in my wallet. Ten pounds and fifty euros. She was over the moon. I didn't care about money anymore. I didn't care about anything. It was nice to make someone else happy though. It helped with the pain a bit, but it was just an illusion. It was late when I returned to my room. I had been drinking, a habit I had picked up. I had been drinking less over time, but I still stumbled home. I didn't pass out within two steps anymore. I was glad I had a card instead of keys to unlock my door. So much easier. I slammed the door behind me and ran for the bathroom. My insides came pouring out. Ten minutes of puking. Fun. When I had finished I wiped my mouth with my sleeve and stumbled back into the bedroom. I jumped onto the bed and searched for my piece of Sherlock under the pillows. I froze.

"No, no, oh please God no," I muttered, searching frantically. I ripped all of the sheets off. I looked under the mattress. Nothing. It was gone. My medicine was gone. My poison was gone. My heart felt like it had been ripped out of my chest. Memories of the dreaded day swirled in my mind. Him. Falling, falling, falling, down…down…down…All that blood. God, all that blood. I collapsed to the floor. Tears fell from my eyes like a waterfall. I was alone again. I couldn't believe it. I was alone. I managed to get myself onto the bed. My face was wet. The tears stained the bare mattress. I moved my hands under the pillows, one last check. I was surprised when I felt something thin and smooth. I pulled it out and sat upright. It was a note. On it read John Watson. The handwriting was familiar. I ripped it open. There was a note inside. I almost had a heart attack. I raced out of my room, not caring to shut the door behind me. Raced out onto the street.

Strange the things I had seen in the past couple of days. Being a maid, you would see plenty of things. A nice young Englishman had come to stay at the hotel. I recognised him from the papers. Next door was a quiet man. He seemed to always watch the first man. The first man would watch everyone else, like he was searching for someone. The second man looked like he wanted to talk to him. It was strange. The first man had raced out of his room, yelling something like I believe in him, I believe in him. I walked into his room. I was scheduled to clean in anyway. I frowned when I saw the mess he made. Some people just can't keep clean. I picked up a note lying on the bed. I had learned a bit of English. I could read the words, but I didn't understand their meaning.

Forgot my coat and scarf.

Love SH.


End file.
